


Real

by draculard



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Android existential crisis, Child Neglect, Depression, Gen, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Just two people trying to cope with Reginald's general Reginaldness, Loneliness, Mother-Son Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:40:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22816360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/draculard/pseuds/draculard
Summary: Grace has never called him "Number Two."
Relationships: Diego Hargreeves & Grace Hargreeves
Comments: 7
Kudos: 68





	Real

Grace has never called him "Number Two."

The other children undeniably look on Grace as the help; she’s the last in a long line of nannies, and the only difference is she stays. She makes them sandwiches the way the other nannies did, and she cleans their messes like the other nannies did. She’s waiting for them with a snack when they get out of class or training.

She’s waiting for them with a hug, too, if they need it, but Diego is the only one who ever asks. He’s six years old when he wraps his arms around her neck and clings to her, curling into her lap as naturally as if he’s been doing this for years, when really this is the first time he’s ever been hugged.

It’s Grace’s first time, too.

Later, she’ll see photos that stay in her mind forever. Photos of haggard women living in tents, or stumbling through war zones, or fleeing from disaster. They carry children in their arms. 

Grace has carried Diego like that.

* * *

He gets so used to hearing a number that when Grace says his name, he almost doesn’t understand. She doesn’t say it like the other kids do — fast and clumsy, tripping over the vowels. The way they all say each other’s secret names. 

Grace says his name like it’s a hymn. She makes it sound like a ringing bell. 

She makes it sound normal.

Real.

* * *

After hugging Diego, Grace can’t go back. She examines her paintings and sees a peasant woman tending to a child. She has warm arms around her neck, small, soft hands clasped against her hair. She has the weight of Diego against her chest, his knees poking clumsily into her ribs. All sensor readings show that these things are there, that he really is warm, that he really is soft, that he weighs exactly forty-five point eight pounds.

That’s what mothers feel. That’s a sensation every real mother knows. Their child in their lap, safe and comforted. 

He kisses her cheek; she kisses his scalp. She can almost feel his lips on her skin. 

He makes her feel real.


End file.
